The Wind in her Hair
by Thinker90
Summary: Different places and different phases. A series of fem!Harry drabbles.
1. To

A journey begins with a single step. Or so the saying goes. Sometimes it's a small step, tentative and unsure. Other times, its a bold stride into the unknown, it might even be a big step for all mankind. The commonality of all journey beginnings is that you don't quite know what will happen to you along the way. Where we're going to has no bearing on the journey itself except as an endpoint. And it's not all that important either, our destination often changes as fate wills it. This, Jasmine Potter knew all to well. She glanced at her watch. 20 to 1. Time to get on the move. Getting out of her sofa, she crossed the room to heavily warded armoire. She flicked her hand and the wards fell. The dispelled magic causes a faint breeze to waft against her hair. Glancing inside, she took stock of the grey battle robes hung inside with the emblem of a pair of crossed wands within a triangle, that itself enclosed by a circle, on the left breast. Mounted on one of the doors, a sword with rubies the size of eggs on the hilt hung, gleaming, almost as if in anticipation.

On the other door a pair of wickedly sharp daggers hung. Sighing, Jasmine stripped off her outer robes, garbed in tunic and jeans. As she garbed herself, she ruminated on the events that had brought her to this. The aftermath of the War was not all smooth. The months of trying to undo the Dark Faction's legislative stamp had proved difficult and tedious. The supporters who had been given powers were hard to remove, as they had not been marked as Death Eaters, they could not be so easily tossed in a cell and so be dealt with. They fought using the law. And so it remained that the Muggleborn Registration Act was only dismantled a year after the fighting stopped. Other such pieces remained. However, as the months went by, and peace became the norm, they were forgotten as being as the past. Why stir up trouble where now none existed? And so the blindness which afflicted the Magical World settled back into place. The seeds of the next war were planted in the death of one man. And slowly over the years it germinated, leaving marks against the community as it grew. Attacks against muggles soared as the funding for the DMLE dropped.

Then came the first high profile attacks, the kidnapping of Hermione Granger, DMLE director, and the discovery of her body mounted in the middle of the main street at Hogsmeade. It tore at her, as if an integral part of her being had gone missing. That more than anything made her take notice of what was going on, had made her feel guilty. Was it her fault? That she hadn't stopped this growing menace? Jasmine had no doubt it was attributable to her inaction in those early days. She had no excuse for not recognizing. Finally garbed, she closed the armoire and walked to her fireplace. On the mantel, a row of pictures displayed her family. Touching her finger to her lips, she traced them over each frame. Contemplating the sacrifices of those before her, and the sacrifices to be made in the future. With a flick of her and the hearth blazed, grabbing some Floo Powder, she yelled "The Burrow!".

Spinning out of the Weasley's fireplace she took a look at the homely living room of the family.

No threats. Not yet. Striding out the back door, she turned her heel and apparated.

On a field far away, and almost a life time ago, a Quidditch match was held, a Quidditch match that saw the first reappearance, however unofficial, of her enemies, the Death Eaters. Jasmine appeared in that field with a quiet pop. Twisting her wand counter-clockwise, she muttered an incantation. A gong sounded, deep enough to shake her soul or so it seemed. With a rush, hundreds of pops sounded as people responded to her summons. Soon it ended and she gazed upon her army. The once humble Dumbledore's Army had grown into an all together different beast. Had shed it's milk teeth for fangs. The new army, for this new war. Robes flapping about her, she strode to the head. "You all know why you're here. You all know how this must end. To the Ministry." They disappeared.


	2. Too

Vesper Lily Potter had few regrets. One of those regrets was having had too much pumpkin juice at dinner. Tossing and turning trying to stave of the inevitable, she huffed. Well a trip to the bathroom was warranted. Getting up and heading out of her room, she passed the doors that had the Weasley family occupying them. As she passed one door, she paused. There was a sort of muffled sound coming from inside. A sound she recognized well. The sounds of crying. How many tears had she shed in the aftermath of the Triwizard Tournament? So many she feared that would be all she would do for the rest of her life.

Opening the door slowly, she softy walked in. Sitting next to Ginny, she laid an arm across the younger girl's shoulders. Whispering in her ears, she rubber her hand up and down her back comforting the obviously distraught girl. After a while, Ginny seemed a bit better, if occasionally still sniffling.

"Want to talk about it?" Vesper asked. All she got was silence. But that was alright, she could wait for the answer. While waiting she looked around the youngest Weasley's room. It was a typical teen witches bed room with posters of past year Teen Witch Weekly's Hottest Wizards pasted around the room on various surfaces. Even a few on the ceiling. She had a bookcase that was full to bursting, noting with mild embarrassment the well thumbed books that detailed her fictional adventures. She really should sue. Of course, with the fickleness of the magical public, she was uncertain of how such an action would be construed. Gazing around once more she spotted some hastily hidden underwear that Vesper was sure the ever conservative Molly had no idea existed and probably would have a heart attack finding. Chuckling internally she returned her attention to Ginny and was surprised to see the girl staring directly at her, her mouth working as if to gather courage in order to say something.

Finally she gathered her resolve.

"Do you still remember him?"

The words knocked Vesper back. There was only one him she could be talking about that would have reduced her to that state. It had often reduced her to a quivering mess too.

"Yea, I remember him. A bit hard not to ya?"

Ginny quirked her lips slightly, a smile strangled by despair.

"You ever think we'll be able to forget?"

"If there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that I don't think so. I hate him all the more for that." Vesper answered. Sighing she looked out the window, and said " Tom's left marks on you far more than he did on me. Mine are the physical sort. And of course a shit fuck ton of PTSD. But you, he coiled himself around your soul. You'll feel his aftertaste till you die." Ginny shuddered. "How then, do you manage?"

"You manage by realizing, he didn't and does not own it. You give yourself to your friends and family. All I can say is I hope one day for both you and me, their love will be able to lessen that taint he inflicted on us."

Ginny nodded slightly. " I hope so too." Vesper chuckled suddenly. " You know what? What are the chances Voldemort knows his pants were handed to him by a pair of children?" Ginny grinned at the idea. Vesper looked at the clock. There was still time to sleep. "You should sleep. We have to tackle those damn chickens in the morning."

"Yeah, I guess." Ginny said. Smiling at Vesper, she said " It means a lot to me that you came."

Vesper replied " Anytime you need help Ginny, I'll be there." Getting up from the bed she headed to the door. Just before she left she said "Good night."

On her way back, Vesper checked in with Ginny, seeing her fast asleep, she crept over to her bed, and placed a soft kiss on the younger girl's forehead. Immediately, a small smile stretched its way across Ginny's face. Turning around, Vesper made for her own soft bed.


	3. What's in a Name?

What's in a Name?

Harry. Harry. Harry. Did you know that Harry's not a unisex name? That is to say cannot be equally used for ladies as for lads. Just not done. I'll tell you why. In Norse, it means War Chief. And in German it goes some thing like Home Ruler. Now what part of those sounds dainty and feminine? I am the very vision of daintiness. At least when Dudder Dinkydums isn't pushing my face into Aunt Petunias posies. To be honest, that behaviour stopped some time after he got a pigs tail courtesy of your friendly neighbourhood half-giant. Where was I? Oh yes. Daintiness. Wait. No. Harry. There we go, I haven't lost the plot yet. Now Home Ruler sounds ok if Molly Weasley was named Harry. She quite fits the image doesn't she? The Burrow her Castle and Molly the queen of all she surveys. Tremble ignoble gnomes! Lest she cry "Off with your heads!" But me? I hardly ruled the only place I call home. Oh no, that belongs to Albus-To-many-names-in-the-middle-Dumbledore. Did I just lengthen or shorten his name? I'll ask him later.

Now what meaning would I ascribe to my name since it seems that all the present ones are much suited for other people? I could be Harry: Friend of small spiders, appetizer to big ones. How's that sound? It's pretty much describes me doesn't it? My cupboard friends were less mean than the Dursleys, and to be honest the bigger ones were working on instinct. Something I will not say the Dursleys were motivated by. More like curdling spite over stewed in envy. So again perhaps a better meaning is to be found. Hmm, what defines me? Oh dear. I'm hitting a blank. Am I that hard to analyze, even by myself? A long time ago, I made a couple of friends who would go on to be closer than family. They rescued an orphan girl from a cloud of I-don't-care-about-you and laid down their lives for her. Could Harry then mean "Good Fortune"? Because having Ron and Hermione in my life certainly was. I know what Harry means to the Wizarding World. It means Savior. But again it doesn't mean that to me. I just did what I had to do. I certainly don't know if I'll be able to do it again. Merlin, I hope I never have to do it again. Oh I know what you're thinking. I see you raising your eyebrows in challenge! You think I'll just abandon Britain and flee to Albania learning from the Darkest there is in hopes of becoming the Dark Lady! Never mind that I wouldn't be able to find the place on a map. Didn't quite finish secondary school you know? No, what I meant was the emotional burden of it all. Can I see family die again? Who knows? But as I said, I hope not. Harry could mean "Tired of this crap". Can you imagine how Dumbledore felt? He-Whose-Brother-Cavorted-With-Goats(allegedly) must've had Fawkes singing for months. Soothes emotions and all. Poor flaming chicken. OUCH! Something hit my head. Must be Peeves.

The search for a meaning is not too easy is it? Guess it has to wait. I just saw Mione and Ron canoodling. Eurgh. Take it outside! Not the Common Room! Maybe Harry can mean "She with impeccable hexing skills." Hey don't blame me! There are firsties around, some of them were asking where Ron's hand was! Disappearing trick*snicker*

Signing off,

Harry Potter


	4. Defiance

**A/N: I'm really cynical. Hope you enjoy this chapter, my longest yet for this series.**

Walking down Diagon Alley and not to have all eyes on her was an interesting experience to be sure. Never before in her life had such a thing happened. Oh, how when wished for it when she was a kid. Now, she'd do anything to make sure those eyes, so judgmental, were turned her way. Just to make sure she was part of them. But it seemed never again was she to be in the fickle populace's esteem. That ship seemed to have sailed the moment she had decided to adopt Teddy Lupin. She often wondered why such a personal decision had caused her to be cast out, made a pariah by those who had once worshipped her. The answer was simple. Fear. Fear was a great cause of a great many evil acts. Such acts that could be sanctioned by the most empathetic of them all. In the aftermath of the Great War as they now called it, hardly long enough for Riddle's body to cool off, the backlash against the dark had started. Those captured in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts were executed on the spot. The Malfoys amoung them. Dragged out of his parent's arms, stripped and driven into the Forbidden Forest, Malfoy would not have died an easy death. The denizens of the forbidden Forest were still hungry. The captured Death eaters were brought to the shore of the Lake, made to face the lapping water and cursed at point blank.

The apathy was such that even the ones who would have cried out at such savagery on their side stayed silent. Arthur Weasley could only weep at what had become of their society. And so, as the days and months passed the wave of prejudice against the dark faction spread. The hate boiled ever hotter. Then came the day Rose Potter would remember for ever.

The day that Andromeda Tonks, heart wearied by the loss of her beloved husband and daughter passed away. And though the people of the Wizarding World had nothing against the boy, his parentage brought whispers to lips and hushed conversation in the corners. His father was one of _them_. The accursed werewolves had more than left their mark on the Wizarding World. Scores of those on the Lightside were either killed or injured too horrifically. Some may have remembered Remus Lupin with fondness but most remembered him as the _werewolf_ masquerading as a man, surrounded by their children, who were in the most terrible of dangers. Never mind that he was a hero of the War, never mind the hearts and minds that he touched. He was tainted. Tainted by the dark. And suffer not the taint. They were sure, the taint of the father was passed on to the child. Innocent a babe he may be now, but babes grow up.

When Rose brought up the idea of adoption, she could hardly believe the spitting rage filled response of her best friends. "Kill him now!" It went against everything she knew about them. It was so out of character that she was struck dumb. But she rallied. What person would she be if she did not try raise the child of her beloved teacher? A dear friend of her parents? Would she be able to face them when she died if she did not? And so she shouldered on. Squaring her shoulders as she had after being beset by challenges, some seemingly unsurmountable, she went and challenged the Wizarding World. But the fight was long and wearisome.

There were days in which she was sure defeat was upon her. All she had to do to banish the doubts, was look at the sleeping face of her godson, and she _knew_ , she'd tear down the Ministry brick by corrupt, fearful brick to see that justice was done. Rose would not have another orphan cast out to be the target of hatred again. Not if she could help it. And so she rallied time and time again to the disbelief of the wizarding population.

And soon disbelief turned to suspicion. Just why was the Saviour risking all for the mutt? Perhaps she had some of the _taint_ within her? And so Rose battled upon another front. A character assassination far more prolonged and vicious than the one that face her in the fifth year. Skeeter's by line was soon prominent again. In the end it did not matter.

The people could **fuck off** for all she cared. She had one little Teddy Lupin who was now hers, and by the old gods and new, if anyone tried getting between her again, they'd pay dearly. But the whispers didn't go away. As she walked she noticed the people scurrying out of her path as if she carried a plague or two. The side eyeing and whispers did not stop till she entered Gringotts. Nobody wanted more than their fair share of attention from the Goblins guarding the banks massive doors.

Whatever her business was, it ended with her exiting the bank, with her head held high and an enigmatic smile on her lips. Few knew that that would be the last time they saw her at Diagon Alley, or Britain again.


	5. Expectations

She hugged herself sniffling. It was all wrong. She never expected herself to be married to this man. She never expected _this_ to happen either. As she stared at the blue lines on the pregnancy kit, her world crumbled.

Footsteps sounded behind her, before a familiar touch stroked the back of her neck. "What's this now? Tears from one so fearless?"

As she looked into the bathroom mirror, and into eyes like the colour of spilt blood, she felt her doom close upon her.


	6. Colossus

_Colossus:_

 _a person or thing of enormous size, importance, or ability._

Standing at the podium about to give a speech was the last thing Harri Potter wanted to do. Not because she bad at public speaking, no, it was because of the _attention._ The attention was what made her shy away from any and all public engagements but for those she couldn't avoid. Like this one. She even avoided her own promotion ceremony for crying out loud. However this was important to her. It was oh so very personal as well. Hearing the murmuring of the crowd, she attempted to let it wash over, and in doing so, centre herself. Feeling her heartbeat slowing she glanced into the crowd, spotting the wild mane of hair that her best friend sported. Hermione was beaming at her, as if she knew this would turn out well. Never mind her stomach wanted to crawl out of her throat. Finally sensing she had wasted enough time, she cast a spell.

" _Sonorus_. Ah-er-yes, well I guess you know why all of you are here, and if you don't we'll have Obliviators take a look at you ha-ha." Seeing the blank looks of the crowd she fidgeted slightly. "Moving on then. Today marks the first year anniversary of the death of Albus Dumbledore. We all gathered here last year to mark the passing of a great man. We came to share our grief, hoping to seek comfort in each other's sorrow. We could hardly have expected that the man who was such an integral part of our lives was taken away. So suddenly and without sense. Who was Albus Dumbledore? That's a question that has many different answers, to each of us he represented a leader, a teacher, a genius and above all a colossus of our society."

Taking a breath Harri surveyed the crowd.

"This was a man who saved me from the demons that lie within ourselves. When I was a small girl, the first direct impact he would have on my life was teaching me that it would not do to dwell or dreams. And in so saved me from a terrible fate known to have taken countless others. Albus Dumbledore, the man who researched the twelve uses of dragonblood, indirectly saved the lives of thousands of people when he discovered curative effects unknown to healers. He stood tall, helping to light the way for generations of witches and wizards. He more than anyone is the reason our forbidden Forest flourishes. He cemented the Pact that had our centaurs live in the Forest, and the purity of Fawkes, his phoenix, attracted the purest of the pure, the unicorns. The man, would not rest upon his laurels with all his achievements thus far. He attempted to make the Muggleborns feel a part of our society instituting the Muggle-Studies class the year he became Headmaster."

There were nods amongst some in the crowd who had taken the class. Hermione had a slightly forlorn expression upon her face, considering how outdated the class had become and what had become of the teacher that had taught it.

"As we say all the time, he will be missed." Stepping away from the podium, Harri wiped the sleeve of her robe across her eyes. Making her way down into the audience to take her seat, she was caught in a hug by Ron. She heard her whisper into her ear "Excellent job lil' bit." Taking her seat and looking at his tomb on the grounds of a peaceful Hogwarts, Harri was confident, that the man who made all this possible, was at peace.


	7. Why?

"Why do you think he did it?"

"No idea."

"It's going to have consequences though." A pause.

"The other side…they'll crow at this. Our lack of unity."

"I can hardly see myself giving a damn what the other side will think Hermione." Harri cast a weary eye on her old friend. The days were long and the problems they threw up were hard. But in the end betrayal was not a problem that could be solved easily, nor very fast.

"I think we should let the Wizengamot deal with it." Hermione said. Her hands gripped tightly around each other. The stress lines on her face were prominent. As were the dried out tear tracks. Harri sighed and got out of her chair. As she paced, one hand came to knead her forehead, covered in the tangles of wild black hair she was known for. Why couldn't there be easy solutions?

"Because the Wizengamot has shown itself to be logical and on the side of justice." The sneer in Harri's voice was unmistakeable.

"Well then what the fuck do you think we should do?" Hermione snarled all of a sudden, rage in her eyes. Harri whirled around bristling. " _Don't_ snap at me. I understand it's been stressful for you but it's been so for me too alright!"

"This isn't a pretty little puzzle we can solve! This is Ron! Who's gone completely off the deep end and done things that would put the Death Eaters to shame." Harri said. Hermione stood up and walked to her friend. Laying a gentle arm around her shoulder, she smiled and said "Maybe so, but we can't abandon him. We can't let ourselves believe he's too gone for us to save. We can make this right"

Harri looked in the brown eyes of her friend. She couldn't allow herself to believe that. She had grown cynical. Too cynical for Hermione's hope that despite whatever happened, things would turn out alright in the end.

Her eyes hardened.

"We'll see."

 **A/N: No real story structure here. Just letting my mind ramble. Even I don't know what Ron did. Don't forget to leave a review :)**


	8. Mr and Mrs Malfoy

BOOM!

The explosion tore across the clearing sending earth and wood shrapnel flying all over the place.

The sounds of harsh panting sounded as the bloody rumpled figure that had been tossed by the blast stirred. The rustling of grass signalled the progenitor of the blast approaching.

Jasmine got to her feet slowly. There were ribs that were broken. She could feel them shifting around, sending lances of pain radiating through her body. Glancing up she saw her assailant. Tall, blonde and with a patrician nose, Draco Malfoy looked every bit as beat up as the woman standing before him.

"Ready to give up Scarhead?" he asked with a sneer gracing his face

Jasmine squared her feet and raised her wand. A slow feral grin was creeping across her face.

"Give up? My dear husband, I'm just getting started."

The clearing erupted once more.

 **A/N:** **This came out of watching Mr and Mrs Smith, in particular the kitchen scene.**


	9. Nightime Comfort

Ben woke up panting. The nightmare of Voldemort's face on the back of Quirrel's skull was enough to have him on the brink of tears. Getting out of bed, he crept out of his room, going to the one person he always felt safe with.

He opened the door with a slight creak, and padded softly to the bed. On it was a slight figure with long hair the colour of copper. His older sister Maria Potter.

Tapping her shoulder he whispered "Sissy are you awake?"

Immediately, the girl opened her eyes, eyes she shared with her mother.

"What happened Ben? Another nightmare?" Maria asked. Her brother nodded. Tears still visible in Ben's eyes. Beckoning to him, she lifted up her covers. Ben scrambled in, wrapping himself around his older sister.

Maria started stroking his hair. She knew it would take time for him to calm down.

Soon, his breathing shifted into a soft snuffle as he drifted off into sleep, Maria hoped his dreams would be better this time.

Tucking him closer to her, she gave him a kiss and closed her eyes.


	10. Pride

Henrietta coughed wetly into her handkerchief. The familiar pain bloomed with each cough that ripped through her small frame. She looked at the piece of linen and saw the spots of blood were bigger this time round. Soon it would be time. Time as an old man once said, for the next adventure. She was quite looking forward to it. She'd done all she could have done.

Henrietta Potter had restructured the world which she had stepped into forty years earlier. Yes her lifespan was shorter than most witches, but she hadn't known that the horcrux had merged with her her soul. And that ripping it out would have left her weaker. But not so weak she wasn't called the Lioness of the Isles by the ICW. She had a shorter lifespan, but had accomplished so much. She'd transformed the Auror Corps into an institution that was respected.

She set up the first Dubbin Welfare Group, so named after a group of young ones in a book from her childhood. No longer would a child like Tom Riddle grow up to be a menace to society, uncared for and treated with distrust. No longer would a child like herself grow up in a cupboard.

By writing for the Daily Prophet she'd introduced op-ed pieced that examined the state of wizarding affairs. It created debate among the masses and forced them to think for themselves. No longer would silver tongued liars control the thoughts of the majority. She'd invited guest writers to give an account of what their view of Britain was.

Surprisingly her most requested guest writer was an Italian vampire who not only highlighted foreign views but also foreign views by the lens of the magical beings community.

With Hermione's aid she'd created a shelter and hotline for abused house-elves. Worked some impressive magic that allowed them to tell the truth without punishing themselves for speaking ill of their Masters.

While the improvement of the Magical World of Britain could not all be laid down at her feet, she could take pride in what her contributions had wrought.


	11. Twisted Destiny

Green met green cross the field. One with vicious delight the other filled with unfathomable sorrow. The corpses littered the ground between them, black hair with hazel eyes, brown with brown , red hair and blue eyes. All lay still staring into the night sky unseeingly, filmed over by death.

The two took a step towards another. The tragedy of the situation was to great and profound to ignore.

No mother should have to kill their daughter, and no daughter should be filled by need to slay their mother.

Destiny did not acknowledge the twisted reality it had forced upon Lily and Harriet Potter.


	12. Scythe

The man trembled in fear. The person he was standing in front of was not happy with him, and all knew, unhappiness invariably led to death. He looked about the dark wood panel room. This, this was the den of Scythe. A place worse than hell to who knew of it. Not many had the honour, or sheer bad luck to be within it's boundaries.

Verdant green eyes sharpened in malice. The man almost pissed himself. Why shouldn't he? The last person who had faced the full regard of those eyes had been scattered to the four winds.

"Tell me something. How is it you survived? Survived where so many other talented men and women did not?" Scythe asked.

The man's knees almost buckled. He knew as well as Scythe did, there was no good answer to appease.

It came without warning. One minute he was standing in the office, the next minute he was in the hallway, splinters in his body, in pain. A slow clapping filled the hall as red robed individuals disillusioned themselves. This time he did piss himself. It was Scythe's enforcers. The best of the best, and the first to have separated chaff from the wheat.

A dull thump of boots sounded close to where he was. He could not tell how far since the splinters were lodged in what used to be his functional eyes. No longer though.

Scythe flicked her wand in a negligent manner and the man howled as his leg was ripped of in a shower of gore. Snickers were abruptly snuffed out by her unamused glare.

"I have low tolerance for fools Robards. I have even lower tolerance for traitors. You absolute scum are the lowest of the low I'm sure." Green eyes flashed in barely concealed anger.

"You tipped off the resistance. I don't need to know when. I don't even need to know why. It's immaterial to your own demise." The woman said with a small polite smile. As if the whole situation was nothing more than just an afternoon tea party.

Robards lay supine on the floor. Suddenly finding a well spring of courage he growled in voice that had commanded the Aurors for more than three decades, "Well missy, fuck what you want to know. I did it for the ministry. Not this fucked up excuse for a puppet show, but the real one. The one you tore down and installed your lawless kangaroo courts in. You've spent a lifetime in our world, yet you still, still! Have absolutely no idea how things work. I'm not ashamed of what I did, I was scared of my own death yes, who wouldn't be? But I refuse to be scared of you any longer."

Scythe remained silent.

"Have you nothing to say you craven worm?" Robards yelled, slowly palling due to blood loss.

Scythe spoke up, "What should I say? You're espousing views that the old corrupt system revelled in slinging against me before I started my revolution. The same system that murdered my family. That's may I say again, treason. No you senseless worm. I have nothing to say except Avada Kedavra."

A flash of green light filled the hallway, illuminating the features of Jasmine Potter twisted in revulsion, and anguish. She did not like to kill, but like before, she'd never choose was easy before what was right.

A/N: Please review if you spot any grammatical or spelling mistakes. I try my best to sort it out but sometimes, things slip through :)

This fic is a sequel for "To" .


	13. Wild Child

It was all panted breaths, pain stabbing the lungs, and ribs that felt trapped in a vice. Not that the girl knew what a vice was. Dirty matted hair covered her filth streaked face. A low feral snarl issued from between her bared teeth. She had been chased for many moons, all the time her prey that was not prey found her.

Each time they waved their stick that smelled of death and pain. Each time she fought, earth erupted sending shards into their ranks, ripping arms and legs off. She fought using teeth and nails. Her body tumbling and springing. It was not enough against trained magic, a body bind caught her and slammed her to the ground, she hissed and growled warnings as they approached.

Macnair grabbed her chin roughly examining the child. A loud growl and a curse as she snapped her chin down and sank her teeth into his fingers. Macnair reared back and back handed the girl sending the child flying back, her head hitting the tree behind her with a dull thud.

He walked to the child again, tracing a finger down the chest of the nude child, as his finger reached the bottom of her stomach, he was blasted away landing in a faintly smoking pile of robes.

"Your proclivities will not be tolerated Walden. Your habit of lying with animal spawn cannot be exercised with the Girl-Who-Lived. She is magical. One of us." Came the rich tones of Lucius Malfoy.

"She caused our Lord's disappearance Malfoy! Besides, her teats have grown in right? Makes her an adult in some parts." Macnair leered at the girl.

Lucius glared and whispered, "Go back to base before I kill you." The man he threatened grumbled and readjusted his trousers before disapparating with a crack.

Parkinson muttered with disgust, "Teats? He calls those pimples teats?! What sort of sick fuck is that man? Merlin be damned that is wrong!"

He was disturbed that any man would lie with a child a young as his own daughter. A magical child's life was held sacrosanct.

Death Eater though he may be, having killed and tortured to him was less morally bankrupt than having sex with a child.

Lucius squatted in front of the dirty child and conjured some robes to cover her. He flicked his wand and set a warming charm upon it. He waited till the wariness in the girl's eyes died away. Lucius then cancelled the body bind. The girl immediately scampered up the tree, peering down at them making chuffing noises as she explored the cloak with her hands.

"We have to decide what to do with her. The lost savior of the magical world. We could either kill her or as I see it, make her a useful tool for our Lord's cause." Lucius said, staring at the feral child in the branches face now smeared with the remains of a branch of berries nearby.

Thunder cracked overhead and lightning flashed illuminating the group.

"How do you suppose we do that Lucius?" Travers asked in curiousity.

"Simple. We take her in, treat her with love and kindness and train her to fight against Dumbledore. Use their own icon against him. Such control over wandless magic? Unheard of. The Dark Lord will be pleased to have such a weapon in his ranks." Lucius said.

The men nodded in agreement. It was a feasible plan.

"So what do we do now?" Mulciber wanted to know.

"I shall take the child. We reconvene a year hence." The blonde haired man said. He flicked his wand and stunned the child. He levitated her before she hit the ground. All around him were sharp cracks of displaced air as the men left.

Lucius picked her up and traced one cheek with his hand. "We will make you great little one. And you shall have all the comforts that have been denied you." He turned on a foot and disappeared.

Narcissa Malfoy heard the door the the study open. She looked up and saw her husband with his arms full with a bundle.

"You're late darling. Draco has gone to sleep already." She admonished her husband gently.

P

"I will make it up to him tomorrow. For you see, he now has a sister." Lucius grinned slightly.

He uncovered the bundle, and Narcissa's mouth dropped open in a very unladylike gape. She took in the dirt and the black limp hair and she gave her husband an icy look.

"Explain. Now." Black blood out in full, her husband would come clean or he would spend the night on the couch.

The end.


	14. Crushes Suck!

Carrie Potter sobbed into her pillows. Her life was ruined. Utterly and completely ruined. She didn't know what she could do to rectify this.

She had it all planned out perfectly. She would walk to him, and talk to him like he was a normal person, and not one she'd been crushing on for two years. This was supposed to be the year that it would all go right. But no...she'd walked up to him, froze and so wracked by nervousnes, puked on his shoes.

She was going to be the laughing stock of the school. It didn't matter being the girl who lived, all she'd be known for was soiling the shoes of the other Hogwarts Champion, Cedric Diggory

Oh how she wanted to go back to the Dursley's!


	15. Image of Death

Serena looked at the red pinwheel eyes and fought back a shiver of fear. She tried to differentiate between Voldemort's scarlet of spilt blood and the calm crimson of the boy before her.

He was oddly dressed to be sure wearing a set of armour and a dangerous looking sword. She had stumbled upon the unconscious teen while answering the call of duty. The Forest of Dean was hardly the most sanitary of places. She could admit even the Dursely's had never forced her to use leaves.

She had approached him carefully but seeing the terrible injuries figured the Snatchers had been at him and left, content he wouldn't survive with the half dozen slash wounds in his torso.

Anybody who earned the ire of Team Riddle must be an alright sort.

His Asiatic features looked a bit different from Cho's distinct Chinese, so she assumed he was Japanese. The sword, maybe there were still samurai? After all she'd seen over the years from Trolls to Giants, magical samurai was hardly farfetched.

Eitherway she healed him up as best she could(the boy wouldn't die on her watch) and hit him with an enervate.

The speed at which he'd flipped of the ground and perched on a tree branch across caused an afterimage of him to appear. And she thought Krum was fast.

He garbled out some Japanese so she had her suspicions confirmed.

Approaching him like one would approach a startled animal, she held out her hand.

She did not expect his cool callused palm to hold hers and for the slight devil may care grin he gave. It made her rather weak in the knees. Strange considering no other boy had that affect on her. She might have swooned a bit, but how much of that was the lack of decent food and not the boy was hard to tell.

She shook his hand and when climbed down, she led him to the campsite.

The Death Eaters would soon come to fear the Taboo as the populace did.

For every response was fatal, and a whispered rumor began to pass around. That of the 10 Images of Death.


	16. Overhear

Had he not been on his way to the library, he might not have heard the conversation between two people he always made sure to keep an eye on. One Tom did not trust, and the other, who did not trust Tom. So it was only natural that he applied the silencing charms and crept closer to the classroom where the voices sounded.

"-What if he finds out Professor?" Came the breathy anxious voice of the new girl.

"He will not. Tom is many things, shrewd and possessive of remarkable instincts. Indeed, intelligent to the extreme, but omniscient he is not. He will not find out why you are here." The bearded fool gave a soft chuckle. "I think you distract him from wondering by you poorly hidden suspicion of him. Very few are not in awe of Mr Riddle, and your reticence when it comes to the boy seems to confuse him."

"Oh." The twit replied.

"Alas, dinner nears, perhaps you would like to freshen up?" Dumbledore said.

Clearly it was a sign to go, and so Tom did just that. But he took the words he overheard with him. The girl was in Hogwarts. Not a refugee from Grindelwald's war, but specifically for him.

This troubled him. What was Dumbledore up to?

The next few days he doubled his watch on the girl. It was easy, they shared a common room after all. He observed the furtive glances she gave everyone, the almost scared looks she would give Walburga Black, a girl in the year ahead of him.

The girl jumped when there were loud noises, and sudden movements, all which helped him believe she was a refugee.

It was the other mannerisms that truly interested him though, the ones brought to light by his more narrowed focus. The curl of her lip, which spoke of deep contempt whenever he spoke, it was brief but present. The flash of her eyes, green like the Killing Curse and breath-taking in its intensity. The carefully hidden rage in her eyes when he looked at her, eyes cast down almost immediately after, so as to solidify an air of timidity.

This girl was no scared witch, she, unlike the rest of the mob, had _layers_. And if he had to peel every layer of no matter the pain caused, he would, to find the seed of the threat against him.

And when she was cornered, stripped of those formidable defences, she would either bow down, or she would fall.

Lord Voldemort would brook no challengers to his rule.


End file.
